[Standard Disclaimer - This is written from a Christian perspective. I have no problem whatsoever with other faiths or the lack thereof.]
...Remember Christ our saviour was born on Christmas Day...To save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray...
I was sitting at our outreach building, the building that the shelter I work for uses for meetings, support groups, and receiving donations. I was sitting there with my manager. She looked at her phone and gasped "Oh my God!" Literally standing there, mouth agape. I thought something terrible had happened to her family.
She was the one who told me that there had been another mass shooting. That it had been at a school. This was pretty early on so details were still surfacing, but they were already reporting that some of the dead were children. I think they originally said 8, but the body count was steadily rising. As we all know now, the truth was much, much worse than that.
Suddenly it all seemed wrong. It was a sunny day with a clear blue sky. I had the radio on and they were playing "Holly Jolly Christmas," or some sort of perky holiday song like that. The moment felt surreal. I wanted to turn the radio off.
With head still spinning, I had to pick-up a client from the local YWCA where she was interviewing to see if she could be accepted into their transitional housing program. The poor thing had been waiting for an hour. But while she was waiting, a minor miracle happened. The director called her back into the office and decided to give her a spot in the program right then. This does not generally happen. The program is usually wait listed for months, and candidates have to undergo drug testing before they can move in. Here it was, Friday afternoon, and she was told she could move in Monday.
She was elated. Her hard-luck story was taking a turn for the better. She'd been brave enough to take a step out of her abusive situation and the path was opening up for her. She was bursting with joy and disbelief at her good fortune.
What a contrast to what was going on in my head. Going on in the world. I could not tell her the news, this was HER moment. I wanted her to celebrate. The cognitive dissonance was breathtaking.
That it is the Christmas season compounds the tragedy. We, unfortunately, have heard such stories before. Columbine. Virginia Tech. The movie theater in Colorado. But this happened before Christmas. And the victims were children. Children who probably had a lot of gapped-tooth smiles waiting for their permanent teeth to appear. Children whose parents had probably already bought them Christmas presents. Children who were probably dizzy with excitement over what, for a kid, is the holiday of holidays.
And the pain of those left behind, for whom Christmas will now be a reminder of the most dreadful experience of their lives. Who have to look at those presents that will never be joyfully unwrapped, the empty seat at the table, the toys going unused. The children who will remember this as a time of terror, who are left to wonder what happened to their friends, their teachers. The teachers who were the only thing standing between the children in their care and a horrible fate. The first-responders who had to bear witness to what happened. This season will always be imprinted with that horror.
How can we celebrate? How can we ever reconcile this with a season of love and joy?
For one thing, the Christmas story does have a dark side that resonates with the tragedy. Let us remember that shortly after the visit of the Magi, Joseph was warned in a dream to escape to Egypt. King Harod had ordered all male children under the age of two killed in an attempt to eliminate the "king" that he feared would displace him. We celebrate the birth, the coming of hope, but rarely do we consider the aftermath. The pain and mourning that now seems all too relatable.
And consider Mary. As we all know, the story that begins so wondrously turns pretty dark before the end. Her son, the baby she birthed amid the songs of angels, whom she must have loved, was killed before her eyes. A slow, gruesome, painful death. I'm sure Mary is weeping with the parents in Connecticut right now. Who else could so understand their broken hearts.
How can we not give in to the despair? Not be overcome by Satan's power? How can we still have hope?
I take my lesson from the day I learned the news. Despite the sorrow, I got to ride in a car with someone who was truly happy, who had come through great darkness and was turning her life around.
And, you know, my job is giving me hope and a true sense of Christmas. It isn't the clients (though they are generally pretty wonderful), it's the community. We have an adopt-a-family program for our clients and the gifts have been rolling in. I get to see the big bags of presents waiting to be delivered to the families. We also receive lots of miscellaneous toys and goodies that I can give away at my aftercare party, or provide for a family that didn't get the chance to be "adopted." Our outreach building is bursting with diapers, wipes, blankets, nice lotions and soaps, shampoos...almost anything a person could need. Dish soap, laundry detergent, toilet paper. I can't over-emphasize what a joy it is to be able to supply toilet paper to a person who can't afford it because it isn't covered by food stamps. We also received 700 pounds of non-perishable food.
And the donations are still arriving.
This is how I can still have hope. In the midst of darkness I have seen a great light. I get to see generosity and the outpouring of love from people to others they've never met. I know there is good in this world.
If we give in to the darkness then Satan's power has indeed overcome us. We must not be afraid to experience joy and wonder. And to share it.
There will be little we can do to really help the people in Newtown right now. We must rely on time to dull the pain. It will never really go away. We can send them our love and prayers, and, even more importantly I think, we can love each other. And we can dare to be happy. This will make the light in the world grow stronger, and keep the dark at bay.
Tidings of comfort and joy, indeed.
